


Future Dream

by Zombieheroine



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alien Mythology/Religion, First Meetings, Gen, Mystery, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Prophecy, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 02:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13113870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombieheroine/pseuds/Zombieheroine
Summary: Prompt: "TFP. Young would-be revolutionary Megatron goes on a quest to the Core in search of a legendary holy warrior to help him form an army. Instead he finds a mild-mannered archivist half his size. “Megatron faces the eternal darkness of the catacombs in search of something legendary and eternal.





	Future Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Future Dream中文版](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13476996) by [assisapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/assisapple/pseuds/assisapple)



There were stories about the catacombs beneath Kaon.

Firstly, they weren’t just beneath Kaon, they were actually beneath the entire Cybertron. According to the stories, the entire planet consisted of your regular surface level and then some underground levels like the subway system and so forth, but far beneath those was said to be a vast catacomb system, a network of endless tunnels connecting every region of the planet and running impossibly deep. 

It was said that even if you spent your entire life cycle in the catacombs, you’d still always find one that led deeper than the one before. 

But there were also other stories. Stories about travelers who had a clear intent in mind when they dived under the surface of their planet with a mark of Primus or glyphs of some ancient magic painted on their plating, and in stories those wanderers found themselves in for miraculous adventures. In legends they got lost, faced the eternal darkness of the tunnels which no one in living memory knew who dug, and after that darkness found themselves in glittering caves of black stone and endless jewel stones, or in grand hallways carved into smooth marble or glass, or traveling down mysterious staircases made of steel that had living circuits molded into it. 

There were stories of great beings that resided down there, deep beneath the surface in the great halls built by Primus Themselves. Some said that the Thirteen were not gone at all but living down there, in the core of the planet right alongside with Primus, all immortal and strong beyond belief, ready to step forth if ever needed. 

Megatron didn’t believe in spirits or old tales, he didn’t care much about Primus either, but he did think there was something to the many legends about ancient warriors residing in the depths of the planet. It made sense in Kaon and Tarn to cherish those stories, but not so much in Iacon, Crystal City or Vos, and yet the stories still remained relatively similar. Stories of legendary warriors with ancient wisdom and mystical powers to grant incredible things to those who managed to seek them out were the same everywhere, and thus they couldn’t be just figments of imagination. 

If there was something a young revolutionist needed, it was strength, and so Megatron set out for a quest to find one of these fabled warriors in the catacombs below Kaon. 

After all, why wouldn’t he be like one of the heroes in those stories? He had plenty of intention and he was ready to be openminded, so why not? And if it was faith that guided one to the core of the planet, then it was faith that would guide him out as well. Even if Megatron knew fear, he wouldn’t be afraid of dark or getting lost, so it was with determined and sound mind that he set out on his quest of finding one of these legendary warriors who could grant a great power to one worthy. 

As a gladiator and thus a part of the criminal underbelly of Kaon the catacombs were not strange to Megatron. Bots of his kind regularly used them to move around undetected or to transport goods of sensitive nature safe from prying optics, and at first the path he took was familiar. Underground railroads around the city, first deeper down and then back up, backdoors, short-cuts and endless stairs. 

But to get into a tale of his own he’d have to get lost, and so just beneath the ruins of a former temple he took a different turn that ever before. 

The darkness sealed him in its embrace, tight like a physical entity as every last flicker of light went out, only the very faint glow of his own optic and biolights illuminating the space. The unknown catacomb led downwards in a very slight yet noticeable slump, its floor smooth and ceiling low, and after a long walk it split in two. Megatron stood in the crossing, peering into the darkness and trying to decide which would get him lost sooner, and eventually settled on the one that seemed to have along it dark spots that he wished were doors. After a slow walk down that tunnel, narrower and sharper in its downwards angle than the previous one, Megatron felt the walls with his servos and found that he had been right: the dark spots were indeed doorways. The wall had several of them in regular intervals and each one of them seemed to lead into a staircase. 

He chose one at random and walked down the descending steps. For a while the stairs were narrow and rugged stone steps, corroded by time and not quite right in the first place, but as he got lower they widened and straightened out. The stone became smoother as well, and again after some time the material changed, this time from stone into metal. 

At the bottom of the stairs there was once again a corridor with floor and walls of the same metal as the stairs, and along the corridor were several doorways with the ends of other stairs, some leading upwards and others down.

Megatron walked the corridor, then after a while chose stairs down and ended up further below. This time he came to an opening that wasn’t really a corridor but a cave with walls of rough black stone that had rich lines of shining gold and large chunks of glowing stones sticking out of them. 

The cave curved and split into two ways, and the one Megatron chose split again into four. 

The glittering cave curved like a body of a serpent, and the cave he had chosen ended in an arched doorway. It had clearly been carved out of the otherwise untouched cave with its smooth pillars and decorated archway, and what it opened to was yet another staircase of wide, low black steps curving like a screw into the depths. 

The black steps took Megatron deep, and for cycles he descended. He braced one servo on the wall in the dark staircase lit only by the glowing red and purple jewel stones in the steps and the walls, and in their dim light he saw that the wall was not bare but full of carvings. Very thin lines carved into black stone and jewels and gold formed both pictures and text in glyphs he didn’t know how to read. The pictures depicted portraits of grand figures and several great battles with legendary bots taking part in them. Megatron focused on walking instead of admiring art, but he did note some things of the carvings as he went by.

He recognized some of the portraits from their popular choices of form, such as Solus Prime from the thick bunch of cables in the back of her helm as well as Prima from the Starsaber he was holding. In some other pictures he noticed several context glyphs guiding the viewer, such as marks for femmes and mechs or shields of castes or emblems of clans, guards and orders, but there were also many context glyphs he hadn’t seen before. Some bots were wearing military shields he didn’t recognize, and he couldn’t read many of the designations on the portraits. 

When the black steps finally ended, Megatron came into a space that was more like a hall than a corridor, and after ages of narrow corridors and low tunnels the open space stunned him in place. He leaned his back against the wall and took in his surroundings that were grand and yet almost dreamy. The hall had been carved into stone that was blue and gray. The floors carried traces of the gold veins from the glittering caves but only near the wall, and further inside the colour turned smooth and flowing, making everything look oddly soft as if the hall was shaped out of clouds and mist. 

The ceiling was high and curved like the sky, and several pillars held it up. The space was round and it rose in halfmoon-shaped tiers towards the back wall, a straight line of stairs piercing through them, drawing a line from the bottom floor to the fourth and highest tier. The space looked far from untouched: there were lantern posts, shelves full of books and more art carved into the wall, but when Megatron pushed himself off the wall and turned around to glance at the doorway he had come from, the arch above it read two glyphs: Rest and dead. Rest for the dead. 

The hall was a tomb. 

It was also empty, and carefully Megatron stepped further into the hall. Against his expectations his steps didn’t echo in the vastness, but the strange cloud-like stone seemed to absorb all the sound, making the grand tomb as cozy as a lord’s berthchamber. 

Megatron walked around with his helm tilted back in awe, taking in the high ceiling and the artwork. Large carvings depicted a heroic warrior in many battles, alone and among his army, always almost twice larger than the soldiers depicted fighting alongside of him, but sometimes crossing swords with another mech who was equally massive and wielded a matching sword. The warrior was heavily armoured and fierce, but at the same oddly serene-looking and carried a heavy atmosphere of nobility around him. 

This must have been it, Megatronus thought excitedly, this was the place he had been looking for, the home of the mythical warrior. Absentmindedly he made his way to the stairs, wandering up to the second level, and suddenly walked into something he thought was a stack of books. 

“Excuse me,” the bookstack said. 

Megatron blinked at the wobbling pile of books, then looked lower and noticed that the books were resting in the arms of a bot. 

Megatron blinked again. The bot was short and light, hardly half of his own size, he had bright blue optics and a gentle feel about him. 

The bot stared up at him with a curious yet unsurprised look, then promptly walked past him towards the shelves on the wall. 

“I don’t get visitors often down here,” he noted over his shoulder while carrying his tall pile of books, and since he was spoken to Megatron followed the little bot. 

“I’m sure you don’t. Yet here I am,” Megatron said. “I came here looking for true power.” 

“Ah, you’re one of those,” the little one said with a chuckle. He walked to the shelves and carefully lowered his heavy burden on the floor before starting to sort them according to whatever information their first few pages contained.

“I have heard the many tales told about what resides in the depths of Cybertron,” Megatron continued, determined to state his business after getting this far, “I came here to challenge the legendary warrior for their sword and support.” 

The little mech threw him a curious glance but returned to his books quickly enough. He hummed in acknowledgement but said nothing, simply picked up an armful of books and started to climb a ladder laid against the shelf in order to reach the right one. While he was stacking the shelf he asked: “And what is your name, mystery challenger?” 

“I am Megatron,” Megatron answered with great confidence even though this mech couldn’t possibly be familiar with his reputation.

“Ah, the name of an ancient Prime,” the mech noted, politely interested. “I’m guessing you picked the name yourself.” 

“I did. The bots of my caste are sparked nameless and without a purpose of our own, so I set out to make my own.” 

The mech arranged the books on their shelf with great care, nodding along Megatron’s words. “A mech of conviction, I see. I can imagine why you’re here looking for power.”

“Yes. I need power to rise up and free my people,” Megatron said. 

The mech sat on a step of the ladder and peered down at him. “Is that so,” he said.

“Yes!”

“And what exactly did you have in mind when you came here?” the little mech asked.

Megatron had an answer ready and he spoke it with confidence even if the little mech was counting books and estimating shelf space as he spoke. “I came here looking for a legendary warrior. It is said that Primus calls bots forth in times of need and grants them with miraculous powers and weapons, and when their time is over he welcomes them back into his arms deep within his frame.”

“Ah, yes, the Primes,” the archivist said and climbed down from the ladder. “I admire you for finding your way here. I have studied the ancient texts myself but still I don’t quite understand how these things go.” Then he went back to his book stack and selected the next armful to be shelfed before climbing up again. 

Megatron spread his arms. “So?” 

The archivist looked down at him. “So… What?” 

“Where is he?” Megatron asked. 

The archivist quirked an optic ridge. “Who?”

“The legendary warrior whose tomb this is! The one whose pictures are carved in the walls!” Megatron snapped, his patience running out. 

The archivist stared at him for a moment before resuming his task, pushing the pile of books onto a shelf. “A tomb, you say.” 

Megatron shrugged harshly. “That’s what it said on the doorway.”

The archivist paused his task to give him a look with his helm tilted to a side, and then he went right back to work. “Well, I suppose that’s one way to see it.” 

“What’s the alternative, then?” Megatron demanded. 

“I don’t think there is one,” the archivist replied good-naturedly. “A tomb is a resting place for what remains. What remains, however, is another thing.” 

It was such a strange thing to say that it gave Megatron a pause. He narrowed his optics and took a good look at the archivist again, then glanced around the hall. It remained as empty as it had been before, save for the two of them. 

He dared to speak again: “And what does remain?”

The archivist shrugged and turned to give him a kind smile. “A memory. Essence. An idea. A story. Something for the ages. Something… Eternal.” 

The words were heavy and didn’t seem to fit the little archivist at all, and Megatron didn’t know how to answer them. He felt like he had suddenly fallen into a deeper cave than he had anticipated, and the safety rope had come lose. 

“And what of the warrior’s power?” he managed to finally ask. 

The archivist let out a little laugh and turned to smile at him again. This time he set the books aside and once again climbed down the ladder until his and Megatron’s faceplates were at the same level, and then he sat down. 

“You don’t need any additional strength, Megatron of Kaon,” the archivist gently said, his smile still kind and earnest. “You are already stronger than you think, and stronger you will become. But know this: you are also a far more terrible mech than you yet know. With your strength will come absolution and cruelty. Your people will be free, but you will not be who you are today much longer.” 

Megatron stared at the archivist’s soft smile and pure optics and tried to connect them to the harsh words leaving his lipplates. His brow furrowed and the gears of his mind turned, but the mixture was just too odd. He hadn’t been educated nor had he read much, but he did recognize a prophecy when one was offered. He didn’t believe any of it. 

Megatron scoffed. “So… No sword, then?”

The archivist’s smile grew wider and even softer. “No. You’ll find your own easily enough.” 

Megatron raised his chin and spread his arms. “Then… What? Did I come down here for nothing?” 

The archivist rested his chin on his palm and regarded Megatron with his bright blue optics, so wide and innocent their gaze pierced like ice. And still his smile was soft, so soft and slightly sad. “No… Not for nothing. This will make such a sweet dream, later. So, so sweet.” 

The unwavering gaze of the blue optics started to unnerve Megatron. They were at the same time innocent and ancient, young and old, loving and fierce. 

Then the archivist broke the optic contact and let out a disarming little laugh that rang like a pure silver bell in the tomb. “No, I’m glad you came here and that I got to meet you like this as well,” the archivist said, his voice like a caress. “You are so young... I think we both get to dream of this solar, in time.” 

Megatron didn’t know what to answer to that, but he did feel a shiver go down his spinal strut. The mech might have been small, but suddenly he felt like he didn’t mind that they didn’t meet in a Pit. 

The archivist sighed and got up from the ladder step, returning to work. “You should go now, Megatron of Kaon. Your people are waiting for you.”

Megatron frowned. “I must have been here for at least a solar cycle by now, maybe several. If someone is waiting for me, they know they’ll have to wait.” 

The archivist let out another beautiful little laugh. “What ever are you talking about?” he asked. “Just go back the way you came from, walk straight ahead and climb up every time you get a chance and you’ll get back to your home block in Kaon. It’s barely been a cycle when you get back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Anon gave a prompt that got really out of hand. I just love writing trippy stuff like this! 
> 
> Thank you for reading. If you liked this, leave kudos, and if you'd want to comment on what you thought of this and what's your take on it, please do! Kudos and comments keep a writer going.


End file.
